Tame
by Asterie-Smiles
Summary: It takes a will of steel to tame a dragon, but some are all too willing to be caught. Dark slash, HD.


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Tame

by S_Star

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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Rating: R and a half.

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Pairings: Harry/Draco

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Summary: It takes a will of steel to tame a dragon, but some are all too willing to be caught. 

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AN: A challenge response I rejected because it was too dark. Again. ARGH! Dark, dark, dark, dark, dark! I thought that maybe writing Harry's POV for a change would make the fiction outlook a bit brighter, but my Harry seems to have slightly psychotic tendencies. *hits head against wall repeatedly* WHY?!

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Tame

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'Men have forgotten this truth,' said the fox. 'But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.' 

~ Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, 'Le Petit Prince' (en anglais, parce que j'ai perdu mon livre francais)

You always look at me from across the Hall in the mornings. It's a habit you have, as if to confirm that I exist. I no longer even nod at you. You look back down at the meal before you, and suddenly you don't want to eat any more. It's now become a conscious act for me not to slap you and tell you to stop looking at me like that, but I know such a deed can wait because by night, you always wait for me.

That's it, beg for me, come for me, spread yourself beneath me, you little whore. Hate you, love you, please don't leave me, and you cry and murmur and writhe against my heated flesh. For you, dear Dragon, I'll show no mercy. When morning comes we'll throw this all away until you next glare at me or laugh at me or publicly humiliate me.

You're going down, Malfoy, both figurative and physical as I push you to your knees. You swallow like an obedient little puppy – _don't you dare mention Sirius, you're not worthy to speak that name _– and then gaze up at me with steel eyes and swollen lips. 

Everyone can see you're aching and burning but no one suspects the Golden Gryffindor.

Impossible hatred. Impossible fire. You know this is me punishing you, fucking you dry, binding your wrists – _is that too tight, oh, sorry, must add another knot _– yet you are my little Slytherin Slut and you're never going to leave me because I command you to stay.

I don't think I'll ever get over this. You ask less and less when I'm letting this end, and more whether I'd like oral first or should you just strip for me already. And I stroke your hair and turn down your collar and push you on your merry way.

Maybe, maybe, you start to fight back, but a punch in the jaw or a shove off a broom isn't going to make me want you less. Perhaps I'd want you more if you still had a fight in you, because I think I may have broken you now. You see, you don't hold your head up anymore and you don't speak except to shout my name – _Potter, fuck yes, oh, Merlin, don't stop_!

A puppet? A toy? To me, you're a trophy. You sneer at my so-called sycophants and fawn over dear daddy and your Dark Lord. Pathetic, sniveling hypocrite that you are. 

And now you bend and twist for me. 

Hero-worship? I think not, but you're certainly dependent on my presence, my mouth and my cock. I think I'll not summon you one week, just to see if your lowered gaze flickers up to mine during Breakfast as usual and whether you'll still come back to me.

This isn't a spell, although heady and beautiful. The control feels like Imperius. Snap my fingers, here you are, and the only thing missing is a collar round your neck reading 'Property of Harry Potter. If lost, please return to Gryffindor Tower, he knows his way from there.'

And so you do. Traveling the corridors almost blindly in the darkness of the night – _no, no Lumos, if anyone sees we'll have hell to pay _– and ending up by a cold stone door to a chamber someone long forgot. Furnished lovingly with silk and decadence and baptised with your virgin blood. A perfect, pale sacrifice upon the altar of my very own temple. Oh come let us adore him, they all sing. You scoffed and now you've lost it all.

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Aahh, poor Draco, are your arms very sore? Okay, I won't use rope tonight, I'll try and find something soft instead. A Gryffindor tie? How perfect.

You like this best, don't try to deny it. I know you come hardest when I pin you down and the red and gold cloths stands stark against pitch-black hangings and snow-white skin.

I scar you, both inside and out, and charm my name into your skin. A dog tag makes it all too clear, but this mark is here just for me. _'Property of Harry Potter'_ imprinted on the curve of your hip, where I can lick to make you moan and give yourself all over to me. It's art.

And in the morning when you wake up on the hard stone floor – _the bed's mine, Draco, I thought we agreed? _– you'll be still be powerless. 

And when you no longer feel the need to send me your customary morning glance, I'll know I have you tamed.

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~fin~

*wails* One of these days, there'll be a happy ending. I promise. ^_^;;


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